


What's Missing Is The Fire

by cherrylng



Category: Coldplay (Band), Muse (Band)
Genre: Cooking, Established Relationship, Food, Food Porn, Humor, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrylng/pseuds/cherrylng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is surprised then scared when he returns home and finds Chris making dinner in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Missing Is The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've heard one too many times on how Chris Martin is the one that can't cook, both in real life and in most fanfics. I decided to try it out as well.

In their household when it comes to dining, there are only three options: Dine out, take away, or Matt cooking.  
  
The thought and idea, let alone be an option, of Chris cooking in the kitchen is considered preposterous. He’d seen a few times of what happens when Chris is not making a sandwich or salad, and he doesn’t want any more visits from their local fire brigade. Getting four visits in the first three months of this year alone is more than enough visits, thank you very much.  
  
So there shouldn’t be any blame placed on Matt for being shocked and then frightened to find Chris in the kitchen upon returning home, with pots boiling, the oven turned on, and the taller man chopping some red meat into pieces with a pair of knives.  
  
A pair of knives on his hands is both unusual and dangerous, more so the latter. Matt’s hands are itching to pull those away from Chris.  
  
“What are you doing?” Matt asks the obvious question.  
  
“Oh hey, love. Welcome home. I’m making dinner. It’s gonna be a three-course meal, made by yours truly,” Chris answers, grinning proudly at him.  
  
Jesus wept.  
  
“I must be in some kind of dreaming state to find you in the kitchen, cooking up dinner,” Matt deadpans. “Only things missing so far is a fire in front of us, and me or the neighbours calling the firefighters.”  
  
“Relax, Matt. There’s no need to call anyone,” Chris says dismissively. “I’ve been practising by cooking for my bandmates and their families.”  
  
 _Probably suffered from his cooking_ , Matt thinks wryly. He feels sorry for them being guinea pigs to Chris’ attempts to learn how to cook food.  
  
Everything seems fine so far. Nothing smells funny in the air. In fact, it’s quite aromatic. The part of his mind that is associated with fear keeps thinking of when the fire and smoke will burst out.  
  
Perhaps it is that he wants to help Chris so badly because it’s a lot of hard work for one man to prepare such a meal. Or perhaps it is him hovering around his boyfriend like a judgemental and worried mother, thinking that their help is necessary when it’s not, that finally got Chris to tell him to leave the kitchen to let the blond cook and prepare their dinner in peace.  
  
“No, you need me there! What if something happens in there when I’m not looking?”  
  
Matt’s intense stare is equally challenged back by Chris.  
  
“I’m fine doing this myself. And you’re not staying here to find out what dishes I’m actually preparing for.”  
  
With a chaste kiss on the lips, Chris has banished him out of the kitchen.  
  
Now there is a pouting and worried Matt in the living room, unable to do anything to stop the train of madness Chris is on. The sole audible sound that he can hear is him dicing and chopping the meat down like he's playing drums in there.  
  
What the hell is he doing in there?  
  
Finally, it was done. Chris comes out of the kitchen, changing his clothes before ushering Matt to the dining room where the table is already set up. He went all out on the presentation. The setting is romantic, with flowers, candles, a bottle of red wine, and even various types of cutlery set out on it. There is even a menu card provided, with the food and wine written in cursive.  
  
Matt didn’t have time to read the top of the list before Chris came in with the first course. The first dish served to him by his boyfriend and Matt finally finds out what the chopped beef was for. A dish of steak tartare with an egg yolk on top, served alongside with rye bread.  
  
The brunette stares down at his plate. Rather than grinding it, Chris finely chopped the beef into very small pieces before mixing it with onions, capers, and seasoning.  
  
While the presentation on the food is not as good as a chef in a Michelin rated restaurant would do, there were other ways that compensates the aestheticism. The colour of the egg yolk is deep orange to the point of almost red in appearance, a colour that can only come fresh from a farm dedicated in raising chickens free range and feeding them organic food. It's no surprise that the beef will be the same.  
  
Yet no matter how enticing it looks, Matt has to remind himself that Chris made this.  
  
What’s bad here is him doubting Chris’ skill in cooking and preparing food, especially raw meat.  
  
What’s worse is not being sure if it will taste good. He’s eaten steak tartare before, so he’s more than sure on what it should taste and look like.  
  
The worst is knowing that this is just the appetiser, with two more courses after this.  
  
A finger tapping on his hand has Matt to look up at Chris sitting across him.  
  
“Aren’t you going to eat it?”  
  
“I can pull my phone out and go on Google right now to find a list of potential hazards in eating raw meat and eggs.”  
  
Matt has to admit that when he tries, Chris is very good at eye rolling. A complete and perfect circle before those pupils return their attention on him.  
  
“I’ll eat the tartare to prove that it’s not poisonous first, but in return you have to take a bite after I’ve done it.”  
  
“Fine,” Matt replies with a huff.  
  
Satisfied with this deal, Chris starts. With deft hands, the egg yolk is broken and mixed in with the tartare. A portion of it is then served on top of a slice of rye bread before Chris takes a bite.  
  
Matt blinks.  
  
There’s no way that there should a look of satisfaction and bliss on Chris’ face when he ate that mouthful of bread and tartare. Matt tries to see if there is any hint that this is all an act, but the mask never broke.  
  
Then Chris points the bitten bread with some meat still on it to Matt.  
  
“Your turn.”  
  
Keeping to the deal, Matt reluctantly leans in and takes a bite.  
  
An explosion of flavour and texture in his mouth.  
  
The chopped beef is just the right amount of beefiness. The egg yolk is rich and creamy. Neither of them clashed flavour with one another, but blended well together alongside with the other ingredients to create a symphony for his taste buds.  
  
It’s so good, so delicious, that Matt is surprised to hear himself moaning.  
  
If Chris is looking at him with pride that he managed to get him to eat the steak tartare with gusto, then Matt is blatantly ignoring him out of his own pride.  
  
Chris is both the chef and the server, picking up the plates once they’ve finished the first course and bringing back from the kitchen their second course.  
  
The second course is a pasta dish, spaghetti with pomodoro sauce, and it was just as good. There’s a difference between ingredients bought from supermarkets and those made from scratch, and the pasta and the sauce doesn’t taste like it came from Tesco or even Waitrose at all. The simple ingredients of olive oil, fresh tomatoes, and basil were the stars as much as the handmade pasta itself.  
  
The main course of filet mignon with red wine sauce and vegetables blew Matt’s expectations out of the water. The steak is grilled just the way he prefers it. The vegetables are boiled until they are cooked, but not for such a long time that the broccoli still retains a nice crispiness when bitten. As there is bread served on the side, Matt all but uses it to wipe the sauce off the plate to eat it.  
  
When they have finished and feel full, Matt is… not really sure of what to think of it. There’s the fact that Chris has finally learned how to cook, and then there’s the fact that he prepared such a feast that is no small feat.  
  
If Chris actually has been learning how to cook behind his back… well, he actually wouldn't mind letting him take charge of the kitchen from time to time. Not without a pair of watchful eyes until he’s deemed responsible enough to be left alone, however.  
  
“So, Matt, how would you rate this meal?” Chris asks.  
  
“I'm left pleasantly surprised. I would give you… four stars.”  
  
Chris reacts to that with mock disappointment. “Four stars?”  
  
“Five is easily for the taste itself, but I pulled it down to four because of food presentation that needs more improvement.”  
  
“Well, Mr. Food Critic, I hope you still got room in there for dessert.”  
  
Matt perks up. “There's dessert?”  
  
Chris returns to the dining room with two bowls. One is filled with strawberries, and the other melted chocolate.  
  
“That’s a lot of melted chocolate for just this amount of strawberries,” Matt notes.  
  
“I think it’s enough for both the strawberries and something else,” Chris smirks.  
  
There is a sudden thought of the many ways that melted chocolate can be applicable on a handsome, virile male body right in front of Matt’s eyes, especially for the nipples.  
  
Oh, he fucking earned the reward for it tonight. Especially after an incredible dinner like this.

**Author's Note:**

> And here you thought something will most likely go wrong, when I practically averted that particular trope for this story just for laughs. LOL


End file.
